Armoured Core 4: Silent Prophet
by Sir Taynvictory
Summary: They had called him many things: A Raven. A Veteran. A Soldier. A Coward. A Defender. A Monster. A Herald. A Mercenary. All titles given to someone whom they believed didn't warrant remembering his name. "In the Myth, God is force." and in this myth, force would leave him to be remembered by the one title that truly mattered. The title of Hero.
1. Prologue

_**Armoured Core 4: Silent Prophet**_

 _ **Prologue**_

* * *

They had called him a veteran; someone worthy of the title of Raven.

The National Dismantlement War was a conflict like no other, and he was at the centre of it. The Governments of old collapsed under their own weight, no longer able to support their overwhelming populations. He had been a recruit at the time, fresh out of training and thrown into dealing with civilian upheaval with nothing but a mass produced Normal.

They had called him a good soldier; an exemplary example of what a proper soldier should be.

Then the governments began to crumble. Rebels began to claw at the military, steadily taking control for their personal use. He couldn't stand the sight, watching those that had fought for 'equality' turn against one another like a pack of wild animals over the last scraps.

They had called him a coward; abandoning a sinking ship in the hopes of surviving the ocean itself.

The corporations of the world struck back. An army of MTs and Normals equal to those of the rebels, promising to protect those that couldn't protect themselves. He had joined them, starved and with only his piloting skills to offer; one more machine to be thrown again into the war.

They had called him a defender; ready and willing to protect the people, even under a different banner.

Even then he had been unnecessary. The corporations had unveiled their latest weapon: the NEXT. It was the next generation of Armoured Core, a machine almost impossible to challenge in anything but another NEXT. Still he had fought, alongside these new, titan-like weapons and their LYNX; returning from the bloodied battlefields in times when other Ravens and LYNX did not.

They had called him a monster; killing and fighting and coming back when others died gruesome deaths.

It was only a matter of time before the rebel controlled governments fell. After a few weeks, the corporations stood triumphant over what remained of the old world. He had stood there afterwards, next to those LYNX that were dubbed Originals.

They had called him a herald; one of the few that had stood firm to see this to the end.

The Pax Economica followed. A totalitarian rule. People still starved. People still died. They were still oppressed, only now those that controlled them were completely unopposable. The corporations ruled like tyrants over the planet. He had left after that, wishing to simply vanish from the corporations. There were a few independent colonies that would hire a Normal pilot, he hoped.

They had called him a veteran; someone worthy of the title of Raven.

Anatolia had been a surprising - though not unwelcome - boon. Despite being the home for two of the people behind the development of the NEXT's systems, the independent colony had neither a LYNX nor a Raven to guard it. He had lived there in relative peace…until the day everything changed.

And he could remember that day all too clearly.

Because it was the first time he had been called an equal.

* * *

 _He had been on patrol when the attack started, a single Normal and a handful of MTs on the perimeter. They should have seen it coming; Anatolia was located on a plateau, the countryside being visible for miles in every direction._

 _It didn't save the first MT from being destroyed in an explosion of shrapnel and fire. The second and third fell before he could arrive at the scene, and the destruction of the fourth MT had shown him how utterly outclassed he was._

 _Supplice. It was Berlioz; The Rank One Original._

 _There was almost no chance. Of victory. Of survival. Berlioz had killed so many he could stand atop their corpses like an explorer could stand atop a mountain peak. He would know so, because he had stood alongside him as a nameless Raven._

 _He didn't know why the man had attacked Anatolia, and he didn't need to. Anatolia was his home, and he was going to defend it with his life._

 _A pyrrhic victory was all that he could fight for, for both himself and the colony._

 _Supplice was a Rayleonard NEXT: All Primal Armour and two-dimensional ground speed. Neutralise both and it was just a well armoured Normal._

 _He had plans for both. The second was the easiest to accomplish. Anatolia's munitions depots was surrounded by buildings separated only by narrow roads and alleyways. A dozen MTs fell before the Supplice had been corralled into having its manoeuvrability crippled._

 _[You aren't any old Raven, are you? Not anyone could command soldiers so effectively. A veteran of the war, perhaps?]_

 _Primal Armour was another thing altogether. A Normal could empty its entire reserve of ammunition into a shielded NEXT and barely scratch the paint. Destabilising Primal Armour either required continuous fire, weaponised Kojima Particles, or one, big attack._

 _He smiled at the time. Munitions depots were just one, big grenade if you squinted hard enough._

 _[WHAT?!]_

 _Supplice had staggered out of the smoke, Primal Armour sparking and fizzling. It simply made the NEXT a bigger target. Missiles would be completely ineffective against the NEXT, but his Normal still wielded a very large calibre rifle._

 _[Dangerous. If this is what you can accomplish piloting a Normal, I daren't imagine what you could accomplish in a NEXT.]_

 _And there was the one, simple reason he was going to lose. He was challenging a NEXT with nothing but a Normal. It was like being asked to destroy a tank with nothing but a hand grenade._

 _It was only a matter of time before his luck would run out._

 _[Got you.]_

 _Berlioz had adapted not long after; flying out of another exploding depot faster than he could physically react. A searing blanket of pain exploded from his shoulder as Supplice had driven its rifle not only straight through his Normal's shoulder, but also breaching the Normal's pilot compartment, severing both his and his Normal's left arm at the joint._

 _He screamed in rage, hatred, and pain, glaring at the NEXT through the digital display; allowing it all to fuel his last defiant act._

 _Destroying a tank with a hand grenade was possible, and that was all he needed._

 _Berlioz had removed his Normal's left arm, but his right still gripped the rifle. The gun rushed forwards, barrel digging into the NEXT's frame. Primal Armour couldn't stop bullets fired inside its radius, and he knew of the nervous system link between a LYNX and their NEXT. The neural backlash from an entire magazine discharging directly into their 'body' would be a sure kill._

 _They were at a stalemate. But here, he was willing to die for his home. Was Berlioz willing to die for his paycheck?_

 _The NEXT glared at him, optics an angry red._

 _[This is Berlioz, I'm dropping the mission. Supplice is heavily damaged; requesting pickup.]_

 _The rifle was pulled free, eliciting another choke of pain as he clamped his arm around the mangled remains of his arm. He couldn't remember much after that, dropping in and out of consciousness and sure that he was going to bleed out in an armoured coffin._

"… _re!…He…ere!…"_

 _He remembered shouting._

"… _eed Mede…ow!…Prep…bs for surg…ry!…"_

 _Images of someone prying open his Normal's pilot compartment swam into sight, figure completely indistinct through his failing vision and the halo of light behind them._

 _Yet even as his vision died, the person in front of him remained._

" _You'r…to b…alright…"_

* * *

"You _are_ going to be alright, right?"

He nodded, eyes remaining on Anatolia as it lay before him.

"You sure?" Fiona looked somewhere between entirely unconvinced that he was telling the truth, and concerned that he might not be and lying to set her at ease. "Your arm's not acting up or anything?"

He couldn't quite stop the small smile from forming at her question, even as he raised the limb in question in mock inspection. Really, if it wasn't for the phantom pains he endured every so often, he would have thought that losing his arm was one horrific dream.

"I've just spent the past year in a hospital. I don't want any excuse to go back."

* * *

 _The scent of antiseptics was what brought him back into the realm of consciousness. It was a dull, muddied, painful consciousness - but a consciousness nonetheless._

" _You're awake, excellent."_

 _He groaned, head lolling form side to side. How anyone could class his current state as 'awake' was drastically oversimplifying things._

" _Hey…" the voice spoke once more. At the very least it was something he could focus on; anything to get away from the numbness. "…Easy there…easy."_

 _Easy? How could he be at ease? Anatolia had been attacked. Dozens of honest soldiers had lost their lives in the conflict. He had lost an-_

 _Arm. ARM. The pain and the burningandtheOhGOD-_

 _A soft hiss filled the room, and a few seconds later his hysteria began to subside. Only now that he was coming down from his panic attack could he hear the frantic beeping of his heart monitor._

" _Easy…easy…"_

 _The voice - a woman's voice, he noted - spoke once more, coming from the hazy figure now stood next to the monitor. Sedative administration, perhaps?_

" _My…" He swallowed thickly; His throat felt like sandpaper. "…my arm?…"_

 _The woman flinched; the act visible enough even through his blurred vision._

" _It was…it was unsalvageable." Honest pain and regret was clear in her voice. "Supplice's Assault Rifle had nearly completely severed it, and we had to amputate what little remained."_

 _His head lolled once more, eyes coming to a stop as he - inevitably - looked at the bandaged remains of his arm; no more than three or four inches of his upper arm remained._

 _So that was it._

 _Life in the war-torn world had finally caught up with him._

* * *

"Of that I have no doubt." Fiona tapped at the data pad she held. "We have a job."

He blinked, the false arm returning to his side as he looked at his Operator.

"Already?"

She turned on her heel, walking off into the facility; he followed a couple of steps behind.

"GA wants to see what you can do." She shrugged, entirely nonchalant. "Not a big job, but it'll put you on the radar."

"Everyone has to start somewhere, even a LYNX."

Fiona looked up from her tablet. The third speaker came into view: a middle aged man refined in appearance.

He nodded in greeting.

"Emil."

* * *

 _Fiona - he had learned her name - visited him every day for the next week. Whether it was to keep him sane or to just check up on him he didn't know, but he appreciated it nonetheless. It kept his mind away from…everything. She was completely professional - maybe even a little distant - but she was perfectly pleasant. Her idealism was a refreshing change of pace in this dying world._

 _So the moment she walked into the hospital room today, he knew there was something wrong._

" _There is…someone here to see you."_

 _She sounded guilty; guilty enough that he pushed himself up into a seated position. Just in time for someone else to walk into the room: an elder gentleman that wasted no time in walking up directly to his bedside._

" _Governor Gustav. It would be a pleasant surprise to see you here if I wasn't expecting you."_

 _Emil Gustav: One of the geniuses behind NEXT Development, and the current governor of the Colony Anatolia._

 _The man's lips twitched ever-so-slightly._

" _Given the events you have had a central part in in the past weeks - Mister Branwen; I expected no less."_

 _He nodded. A week being bedridden gave his ample time to speculate about his future._

" _I will be blunt, Mister Branwen," That was something he appreciated. As much as he liked Fiona, she hedged around the issue a little too much. "Whilst I and the Colony are sincerely thankful for you and your sacrifice in defending Anatolia, the…cost - shall we say - was…less than ideal."_

 _The governor looked evenly and directly into his eyes. Fiona looked slightly distressed where she was stood._

" _Ever since the death of my colleague - Professor Finn Jarnefeldt - and the worldwide spread of NEXT development, Anatolia is entering a state of economic crisis. The loss of our munitions depots - whilst understandable given the situation - has only increased the severity of our state."_

" _Great." He scrubbed at his face with his remaining hand. "Last job before forced retirement and I'm being given a bill over severance pay."_

" _Not…quite." The Governor looked somewhat amused for a brief moment, before his face settled into a stoic firmness once more. "…I believe in a course of action that could solve the majority - if not all - of our problems: yours, mine, and the Colony's."_

 _He raised an eyebrow._

" _How so?"_

" _The Corporations of the world are ripe with well-paying opportunities for independent individuals capable of performing them. Many of the requests are often those that the Corporations would rather not be affiliated with and as such, often have substantially increased outgoings for the individual - and their associates - as compensation."_

 _It dawned on him, his eyes widening in disbelief as the words left him._

"… _You want me to pilot a NEXT; to become a LYNX."_

" _Correct, Mister Branwen."_

 _The room descended into a stifled silence save for the steady beeping of the monitors. Governor Gustav was completely unreadable, and Fiona's distress was as clear as day._

 _He sat there, drumming his fingers against the bed._

" _I have the feeling that any and all points I bring up will have already been taken into consideration. How will I pilot a NEXT? From what I recall, a NEXT requires a complete neural link," he glanced at area where his left arm should have been, "Unless the NEXT has one arm, I can't exactly pilot it. Does Anatolia even have a NEXT for me to use?"_

 _He could have asked far more, but he wasn't joking when he had said that he had a feeling that all of this was already thought of._

" _All good questions, Mister Branwen. And as you have said, all of which have been taken into consideration."_

 _Fiona approached, offering the tablet she near universally carried as she reached the bedside. He accepted the device, and nearly dropped it when he caught sight of what is displayed. For a brief second, Berlioz and the Supplice flickered into his mind._

 _A 03-AALIYAH Rayleonard model schematic was displayed; devoid of weapons and coloured in uniform, gunmetal grey._

" _The Research & Development team utilised this NEXT in their experiments with the NEXT systems as a whole, and were more than happy with relinquishing control over it. They would rather it be utilised to its fullest capabilities rather than gathering dust in a storage building."_

 _The Governor's face twisted into a grimace._

" _And this may sound…distasteful, but we ran tests on you whilst you were unconscious. Only AMS compatibility tests, I assure you." The Governor must have caught his hostile gaze for him to amend himself that quickly. "Your baseline AMSC is a stable and solid three-hundred - and that is without mentioning how further you can push that. There are LYNX with years of experience that cannot even rival that, and most Originals have trouble surpassing four-hundred-and-forty."_

 _There was probably more than that, but he kept his mouth shut._

" _As for your arm," the NEXT schematic vanished, a second schematic of what looked like a human limb taking its place. "Our work with robotics and the human nervous system have allowed us to create far more than just NEXTs. What you see before you is an advanced prosthetic, completely capable of mimicking its organic counterpart in nearly every way, but for the sake of this conversation I can assure you that the limb contains an artificial nervous system. Piloting a NEXT using this prosthetic would be no different than from using an actual, organic arm."_

 _And all it would cost him would be putting himself even further in the Governor's debt. But it was as he said: Anatolia was going bankrupt. If he did nothing, the Colony would cease to exist in a handful of years._

" _What needs to be done?"_

 _Fiona winced out of the corner of his eye._

" _I will be straight with you Mister Branwen," The Governor leaned forward, his face a mixture of sombreness and regret, "It will be painful. You will have to receive implants required to link with a NEXT. It is a process that could cripple you further should your body react violently towards them. We will also have to remove further of what remains of your arm in order to install the artificial replacement, and linking that with your existing nerve endings and musculature will be even more painful than the LYNX implants."_

 _He grimace at the picture, yet nodded nonetheless._

" _I also believe that you know of the consequences that would follow should you fall in battle when piloting a NEXT."_

 _He did. He had witness far too many NEXT pilots breathing their last on the battlefield._

" _It will take perhaps a year at the most for you to complete your physiotherapy, Mister Branwen, and by then whatever specifications you desire for your NEXT can be finalised with your Operator."_

 _Fiona nodded her head where she stood, and he smiled._

" _Look forward to working with you."_

* * *

"Arm's not giving you any trouble I hope?"

"No Governor." He flexed the limb in question. "You said so yourself; it's almost as if I never lost it in the first place."

"Good, good." The Governor joined him and Fiona as they walked, idly watching the engineers as they travelled up and down the hallways. "Fiona told you what the mission entails?"

"Not…specifically."

"Ahh, well then. Gryphon is still several hours away by Stork Transport Plane; there'll be plenty of time for a full briefing."

A mission in the Independent City, given by one of the Corporations? Could he class that as being ironic or something?

He glanced about as the hallway gave way to the third story of a massive hanger: Engineers flitted about with their duties, some on the ground level stood at monitors that no doubt displayed incomprehensible readouts. Others were working on what the hanger contained, all on different levels of the scaffolding as they worked on giving his NEXT the final preparations for its first mission.

His NEXT.

* * *

 _They had taken him to see the Armoured Core come the following week. Apparently - or what Fiona told him at least - the R &D team hadn't expected him to accept the offer to become its LYNX, and were only halfway through preparations to bring it up to par when he did so._

 _Half-finished preparations or not, it was still a beautiful machine; angular and aerodynamic in its entirety. He couldn't quite stop the low whistle he released._

" _Impressive, isn't it?"_

 _Emil had joined him at the railings, leaning on the rails and staring at the NEXT with an unwavering gaze._

" _That it is…" He trailed off, squinting at the NEXT's shoulder, "…what's that?"_

 _As dull and scrapped as the splash of colour was, it still stood out like a beacon on the monochrome Armoured Core. Upon a closer look, he could make out the vague shape: It appeared to be a speaker, or ruler of some kind, with…a stylised open book in the front and a circular mural behind._

" _A leftover from the R &D team, most like." The Governor spoke without once moving his gaze. "Many a LYNX paint emblems on their Armoured Cores for identity's sake. No doubt they didn't want their NEXT to be left out."_

" _Speaking of Identities," Fiona walked up to the two tapping away at her tablet, "I've registered your name as the Pilot; all that's left now is its name. Thought of one already?"_

 _His gaze returned to the faded emblem, a muted silence seemed to fill the entire hanger._

 _And then he spoke._

" _Silent Prophet."_

* * *

Gone was the drab gunmetal grey of unpainted metal; in its place was a Ghost White, with certain sections painted a Powder Blue. A _01-HITMAN_ machinegun was held firm in one hand whilst the left bared a _02-DRAGONSLAYER_ Laser Blade. Apparently the R &D team also had those two weapons lying around in storage, in addition to the NEXT itself. Fancy that. The _RD03-PANDORA_ Radar Unit and _OGOTO_ Grenade Cannon the Next had affixed to its back were…slightly more problematic to obtain. He wouldn't be seeing much money for the first half a dozen jobs thanks to their cost, but surviving those jobs would make them all the more worth it.

His fingers brushed against the emblem it bared on its shoulder.

"Come on then…"

He patted the Armoured Core, generating a deep metallic reverberation with each tap.

"… _Let's go see what the world calls me this time._ "


	2. Chapter 1: FIRST STRIKE

_**Armoured Core 4: Silent Prophet**_

 _ **Chapter 1 – Destination Unknown**_

 _ **[FIRST STRIKE]**_

* * *

He never liked the journeys on the way to an assignment. They gave him too much time to think; too much time to speculate, and _far_ too much time to ponder how things could go horribly wrong.

[ _GA wants us to eliminate the armed groups occupying Gryphon, The Independent City._ ]

The Independent City. Last he had heard of it Gryphon was a sprawling metropolis, one of - if not - the last settlements on the planet that still resembled the Old World. At least it was, before said armed groups moved in.

[ _Gryphon was abandoned after losing its central infrastructure to large-scale terrorist attacks. These groups just let themselves in and set up shop._ ]

He had very nearly decided to work for the Gryphon City Police, before ultimately choosing Anatolia. The city was nice, but he had spent far too long travelling through broken cities drenched in blood and the dead.

[ _This mission is a little show for the Pax, and as our NEXT, you're our star. There shouldn't been anything too challenging on this mission. GA's reports only mention attack helicopters, tanks, a few MTs, and a couple of Normals._ ]

Of course they'd give Anatolia such a cakewalk of a mission. It wasn't worth the effort to send one of their own LYNX, and he wouldn't put it past the Corporations to literally throw them the table scraps.

But money was money, and an independent mercenary couldn't exactly be picky when it came to jobs.

[ _GA - the largest Company of the lot, are especially eager to see Gryphon rebuilt. We won't get another chance like this to impress them._ ]

Getting a proper foothold in the Western Pacific seemed like the "GA thing" to do.

[ _There is…one stipulation, however._ ]

The sound of metal striking metal echoed as Silent Prophet's head leant back. There was always a catch now, wasn't there?

[ _GA's request is that you refrain from using your Primal Armour; they want to avoid Kojima contamination in Gryphon as much as possible. No point in saving the city if no one can use it after all._ ]

He groaned. This was great, just…great. Perhaps GA was trying to get him killed after all. A sigh escaped him - even if he had to fight off the bubble of macabre amusement that formed when Silent Prophet slumped along with him.

[ _The stage is set. The rest is up to you; good luck._ ]

The entire floor lurched, metal bulkheads groaning as the floor beneath Silent Prophet parted; the NEXT held up only by clamps and restraints. Gale force winds tore at the opening, deafening him for a split second before the NEXT muted them.

A thought later and the restraints released, sending the NEXT into a freefall directly towards their target.

"This is Val Branwen and Silent Prophet, entering mission area."

* * *

Gryphon's city skyline swam into view through the clouds; great skyscrapers of concrete and glass were visible as far as the eye could see. If he were honest, The Independent City was actually in pretty good condition, considering it had endured an end of the world.

Silent Prophet's boosters blazed to life, slowing their descent as he scanned the landscape for a safe place to put down. Radar pings were picking up a couple dozen contacts to the north. Nothing particularly large, so probably the tanks and the MTs. The asphalt cracked as Silent Prophet landed, creating fissures in the centre of the crossroads he had landed in.

The quick boosters flickered to life, throwing the NEXT behind the building to his left. No Primal Armour meant that all he had was Silent Prophet's armour integrity to keep him alive, and he was adamant to keep that as stable as possible. His gaze flicked about, Silent Prophet's optics scanning everything in sight. Satisfied that enemy Normals hadn't yet barrelled towards either him or his reinforcements; he willed the boosters to life and turned left.

"Fiona, can you keep an eye on the radar?" The radar display often took up a not insignificant amount of space in his limited view, and although it could be willed away with half a thought a second pair of eyes never hurt. "Going to try and flank, and I don't want to get blindsided."

[ _Sure._ ] She sounded…troubled? [ _I've been trying to crack into their communications; give us a bit of an edge. It's giving me a bit of trouble, but I'm nearly there._ ]

That was…that was a _brilliant_ idea.

[ _O-oh, thanks._ ]

He said that out loud? Oh well, still didn't make it any less true.

{ _-arthog Two-Two; you catch where the NEXT went?_ }

 _Payday_.

{ _Negative. The thing moved too fast; it's a Rayleonard though, so keep your heads on a swivel and your eyes on road level._ }

The chatter went back and forth between the targets, and he listened carefully for anything telling: Warthogs for tanks, Buzzards for Helicopters, Ostriches for MTs, and Golems for Normals. The chatter itself was clear; professional even. Whoever the group were, they were surprisingly militaristic.

[ _We shouldn't rely on it though; cracking into an armed group and cracking into a Corporation are two entirely separate things._ ]

Oh well.

Still, it wasn't going to help them. He rounded a corner with a quick boost, _HITMAN_ raised and awaiting a lock-on and firing solution.

{ _There! Six o'clock! To the east to th-_ }

 _ **-Beep-**_

A burst of machinegun fire tore through the MT, toppling the machine over before it detonated in a small explosion. The quick booster engaged once more, and he set about circling the group. The tanks were absolutely no trouble whatsoever.

{ _We've lost Warthog Platoon! He's taken them all out!_ }

The smallest of bullets for NEXT weaponry were the size of a human torso; the tanks didn't as much as blow up as they did _disintegrate_.

{ _Ostrich-Three is down!_ }

The MTs didn't fare much better.

[ _I've detected forces to the north. The Helicopters are on the other side of these skyscrapers._ ] Silent Prophet nodded and he replied with an affirmative, [ _The Normals should be on the other end of a large suspension bridge._ ]

The _HITMAN_ lowered in preparation for a self-reload as another two MTs rounded a corner. Silent Prophet dashed forward, _DRAGONSLAYER_ flash-snapping into life with an unholy buzzing and cutting down the first of the two MTs; the second fell when the machinegun returned to firing position. The Laser Blade fizzled out of existence, and he commanded Silent Prophet down the bridge.

[ _Enemy Normals sighted - wait!_ ]

He didn't wait - in fact he did the opposite.

[ _E-enemy reinforcements? I'm counting six - no seven enemy Normals total!_ ]

He all but threw Silent Prophet off the bridge, avoiding the opening barrage from seven - no doubt - very angry _GOPPERT-G3_ Normals.

{ _All Buzzards: Open Fire!_ }

The pattering of rounds connecting with his NEXT rattled through him. Quantity did beat quality eventually: A single _043AF20_ helicopter might only possess two standard machineguns, but there were two dozen of them. Not to mention the Normals. The 'small' arms he could shrug off, rounds from Normal scaled weapons without Primal Armour was another thing entirely.

[ _Concentrate on the Normals. They're the mission priority._ ]

He huffed; easier said than done. Fiona was right though, everything apart from the Normals were irrelevant. A Quick Boost Chain was the only way he was getting close enough to strike them with the _DRAGONSLAYER_. _GOPPERTs_ were pretty heavily armoured and shield wielding to boot, Machinegun fire would take too long to destroy them before they did the same to him.

Half of them clustering together were also a boon. Made them the perfect target for the Grenade Cannon he had put himself in debt to obtain.

{ _What the hell?! How fast is this thing?!_ }

The Laser Blade sliced clean through the Normal with barely any resistance, and a Quick Boost pushed Silent Prophet far out of range of the ensuing explosion. He grinned; the smoke and debris may have blocked his line of sight, but he was still locked onto one of the clustered Normals.

"…boom."

The soft 'thwump' of the _OGOTO_ firing was lost amongst the racket of machineguns firing and missiles striking the earth where Silent Prophet stood. The detonation - however - was not; one Normal simply ceased to exist, a second fell to the ground in a shower of twisted metal and mechanical fluids, the third staggered out, walking backwards all of two steps before collapsing out of sheer damage and shrapnel lodged into the machine.

He winced. That wasn't a good way to go.

[ _Three enemy Normals left. Just a little more now!_ ]

{ _Damnit! Focus fire! FOCUS FIRE!_ }

The helicopters hovered overhead, and he had to throw his NEXT behind another skyscraper to avoid the barrage of missiles.

[ _Look out!_ ]

The warning came a second too late; one of the Normals hadn't been as idle during the chaos as he thought, drifting around the corner opposite him and firing its rifle. Silent Prophet shuddered as the round impacted its frame. His jaw clenched; the pain that shot through him was both artificial and severely muted, but it was still served its purpose of borderline telling him not to get hit. The _DRAGONSLAYER_ snapped to life and a second later he lunged, slicing through the Normal. A second _GOPPERT_ rounded the corner behind the wreckage of the first, directly into the path of the now raised _HITMAN_ , and fell to a sustained burst of fire.

[ _One remaining Normal. This is the last of them._ ]

He glanced around, catching sight of the final Normal as boosted out of sight. Boosters flared to life, and he gave chase.

{ _Retreat! Full Retreat! Everyone get out of here!_ }

Gunfire blocked his advance; the Normal foregoing accuracy for volume of fire. Helicopters scattered in various directions as he advanced and whenever he made to turn the Normal attempted to cage him in, with the only directions available were either upwards or directly towards it.

Sacrificing themselves to save their allies; how noble. The very least he could do was grant the Raven a quick death.

Silent Prophet lunged forwards, spearing the Normal straight through the torso.

[ _All enemy Normals destroyed. The remaining forces are in full retreat. Mission accomplished._ ]

So that…that was it; his first mission as a LYNX. Almost idly, he looked around. Gryphon was mostly untouched, and any major damage could easily be repaired by the Corporations. Even the wreckage of the tanks and MTs and Normals could be brushed away without a thought.

[ _You okay?_ ]

"Just…" He sighed, wishing he could pinch the bridge of his nose, or something. Adrenaline was wearing off and it was leaving him with a far larger sense of fatigue that was far worse than Normal piloting. "…just a headache. I'll be leaving Gryphon from the south; signal the Stork for pickup."

[ _Understood; Extraction is on its way. Come home._ ]

He panned his gaze around Gryphon once more, and made to put The Independent City behind him.

Coming home sounded like a perfect idea.

* * *

Anatolia was sprawled out before him, the small colony completely alive and celebrating the first success of their LYNX. He hadn't done much - the celebrating that is; apart from a single drink we was more preoccupied with winding down, content with pressing a damp cloth against his face.

Fiona was stood next to where he was sat, relaying information that he absorbed without really listening.

"You did brilliantly; Emil is ecstatic."

That was a picture he couldn't imagine for the life of him. 'Governor Emil' and 'Ecstatic' went with each other as well as oil and water did.

"I'm sure he'll do his part."

He pressed the cold compress against the forehead. Damn headache just wasn't going away. Piloting Silent Prophet around Anatolia for a couple of laps, simulations, and Quick Boost drills just didn't compare.

"Then…" Fiona faltered, trailing off with uncertainty in her voice. "…then I'm sure you'll be sent back into the fray."

He looked up, glancing over the towel as he scrubbed over his mouth and nose.

"You disapprove?"

"I…" She hesitated, looking everywhere around the hanger except for him or his NEXT. "…I do not know. I mean, Anatolia is in danger of collapsing. This…this is my home, and I don't want to lose it. But at the same time…how many people died today? It just…it just doesn't feel right."

He nodded in acceptance; in agreement, even. A healthy human mind didn't wake up one morning and settle on killing as the first course of action. In a manner, he welcomed her views. But for every situation where killing wasn't the 'right' thing to do, there was a situation where it wouldn't exactly be 'wrong' either.

Or maybe he was just a jaded cynic.

"This is something I learned during the NDW, Fiona." The Normal sacrificing themselves came to mind. He sagged where he was seated. "We all have our reasons for doing what we do; It can't be just chalked down to 'I'm a merc, they're terrorists' or 'we're the good guys, they're the bad'. For every reason I can think of for doing what I do, everyone else has one as well. I'm not going to make some flimsy, self-righteous justification that I'm doing the 'better thing' or that that their deaths were 'necessary'."

Joints popped as he stood and stretched taking one last glance at his Operator.

"…I'm just someone who wants to keep his world alive. Someone who wants to put food on the table. And this is the only way I know how."

Silent Prophet loomed overhead, and he made his way out of the hanger and away from Fiona. His Operator looked deep in though - or at least he thought she did.

"I accept what I do, and I'll accept my fate when the reaper comes to collect. But until then, I'll just keep living."

The door shut with barely a sound, and never before did he just want to fall asleep and never wake up.

At least the damn headache had gone away.


	3. Chapter 2-1: SWARM OF RED EYES

_**Armoured Core 4: Silent Prophet**_

 _ **Chapter 2 – Ordeal by Innocence**_

 _ **[**_ _ **SWARM OF RED EYES**_ _ **]**_

* * *

 _THIS_ \- he thought - was ominous. The entire horizon was dyed an eerie shade of crimson; it was almost as if the sky and the sea were aflame. Silent Prophet's hold on the two _HITMAN_ machineguns tightened. He didn't care if they drank or not, but he was buying the entire R &D department half a dozen crates of beer for managing to find a second _HITMAN_. He might be good, but there was no way on the planet he was going to destroy _EX-DAGONs_ with a Laser Blade.

Even the _OGOTO_ was of questionable use, given that they hadn't been able to outfit the Grenade Cannon with proximity detonating rounds in time for the mission.

And he was to blame. Fiona…crestfallenness a week ago had gnawed at him the entire time, so when GA came back with a whole slew of potential contracts he had taken one that did not involve killing anyone. It wouldn't last, but he hoped that it would set her mind at ease.

And then this happened. Oh joy; oh bliss.

* * *

 _[GA has confirmed that a fleet of submarines are on their way to attack the Eocene Launch Site; most likely loaded with self-destruct drones. EX-DAGONs are the most probable. Based on GA's information, they believe that they're manufactured by Omer. Still unconfirmed on whether or not it's actually the Corporation itself or another anti-establishment group with a large ordinance supply though.]_

 _The Stork hanger flickered into view as Silent Prophet's optics came online. A grid map displayed Eocene in all its barren, wasteland-esque glory._

 _[They want you to run interception; the peninsula is probably your best bet. You'll also be joined by the Eocene Base Patrol.] Fiona paused, and he got the distinct impression she was shrugging her shoulders. [Don't know how helpful they're going to be, but every little helps.]_

 _He nodded an affirmative, and Silent Prophet lurched as it entered freefall._

* * *

{ _Your orders, Sir?_ }

A dozen of Eocene's Base Patrol stood behind him, each one clad in _GAP-90 NOSHIELD_ Power Armour and either wielding an anti-air machine gun or repeating flak cannon. For some unfathomable reason they had put him in charge the moment he had turned up.

"Staggered line. Remain behind boundary line _EB-4J_ and dig in. I'll thin the herd and you mop up any that get past me; only fall back to another's position when you get overwhelmed in order to lend supporting fire. And _remember_ , no heroics. I want all of you going home tonight on your own two legs, not in a casket; _understood?_ "

He didn't shout orders; he didn't need to. Emphasis was as loud as he got, and it conveyed his authority well enough.

{ _Sir yes Sir!_ }

Almost as one, the Base Patrol turned and began taking up positions. When was the last time someone had actually called him 'Sir'? Far too long ago he reckoned, and just like how he remembered the feeling from long ago, he hated being called 'Sir'. It made him responsible for these men; made him the one that would be to blame should they not get home at the end of the day.

Call him selfish, but he didn't want to be burdened with _that_ responsibility. Not again.

[ _Enemy drones have entered sector Four-Jay; right on schedule. Move to intercept._ ]

Silent Prophet whirred to life, and he willed the machine forward. The peninsula would make movement tricky, and he didn't want to waste time falling down a cliff. Normals were a nightmare to pilot over uneven or vertical terrain, and _AALIYAHs_ only seemed to be worse at it.

"This is _not_ getting any less ominous." He eyed the first wave of drones as they hovered towards him, his mind conjuring up an image of red, glaring, angry, man-sized locusts. Both _HITMAN_ machineguns rose to meet the oncoming horde even as he spoke. "Nope. Definitely not."

One good thing about explosives: they worked both ways. _DAGONs_ were mass produced, fire-and-forget weapons; packed with the maximum amount of explosives possible covered in an outer shell that was so flimsy a soup can offered more protection. It may have taken half a dozen rounds to hit one, but the resulting detonation took out the two or three in the blast radius, and then all there was to do was watch the fireworks. Rounds were fired from only one _HITMAN_ at any given time, both to conserve ammunition and cover the other's self-reload.

[ _First way is nearly destroyed. Keep it up._ ]

Now all he had to do was wait for the other shoe to drop. Was that tempting fate? Expecting something to go wrong at any given time?

[ _Wait…we're picking up new contacts!_ ] He just had to think that train of thought, didn't he? [ _Sensors are picking up several of them; all too large moving too fast to be drones. They're Flight-capable Normals._ ]

Well…there goes his plan of 'not killing anyone' on this mission. Silent Prophet picked them up on radar, six blue lights amongst a sea of red.

"This is Silent Prophet to _Eocene One-One_ ; enemy Normals are en route." Both machineguns opened with a torrent of burst-fire, there were still the drones to deal with. "Moving to intercept; I'll keep them occupied, but far more drones are going to get past."

{ _Understood Sir. Good hunting._ }

The chatter of the base patrol faded out as he pushed his optics to their limit. They were _TYPE-ARGINE_ Normals: fast, lightweight, and - most importantly - designed for indefinite flight. The Laser Rifles were something to look out for, if only due to their Primal Armour penetration capabilities. He shouldn't have been too concerned. If Normals has a list of combat effectiveness against a NEXT, _ARGINEs_ wouldn't be ranked all that high. They just weren't heavily armed enough to be a threat without either numbers, or large quantities of support.

Really, they should have been nothing more than a distraction.

Which is exactly what they were currently succeeding at. A growl rumbled from his throat, and one of the _HITMANs_ had to aim away from the Normals in favour of targeting a cluster of drones. A second later and both machineguns locked onto one of the few Normals. They scattered, each one making to flank him from all sides and directions.

One had flown directly overhead, silhouette bordered by the angry red glare. Two dozen rounds impacted with the Normal, swatting the machine out of the sky as he continued to fire and destroying the drones that ambled towards their target.

{ _Eocene One-One, engaging drones!_ }

The sounds of flak rounds detonating in the air were drowned out by further explosions and the _ARGINEs_ as they came around for another strafe. Laser Rifle shots half penetrated Silent Prophet's Primal Armour, scorching the armour plating and damaging the frame integrity - if only ever-so slightly.

He clucked his tongue, willed the _OGOTO_ into a firing position, and waited for the Normals approaching his left.

 _ **-Thwump-**_

They both went up in a grand fireball. As fast as they were an _AALIYAH_ was fast enough to keep up with them on the ground - even without Quick Boost. The remaining three backed off, putting enough distance between Silent Prophet and themselves for him to tear into another cloud of drones. The horizon was steadily losing its inferno-like colour, and the Base Patrol chatter taking place behind him gave him confidence. Only a couple of the patrolmen had fallen back, with no drones getting past their hail of anti-air and flak fire.

And then something…odd happened. The three remaining Normals hovered in the air for a brief moment - doing nothing but tempt him to shoot them out of the sky, before they immediately turned around and flew back in the direction they arrived in.

He blinked, momentarily confused by the course of action.

[ _Enemy submarine fleet is withdrawing! The Normals are in full retreat as well!_ ]

Ahh. That explained it. Unless they were sent out with the sole mission to die as a distraction, the Normals would have to retreat when the fleet did. Indefinite flight time in a confined combat area and indefinite flight time over several-thousand miles of ocean were two entirely separate things.

If anything, it was a relief; three more people able to go home at the end of the day. Although he had to wonder if they would have not retreated and instead fought to the bitter end if he hadn't taken out half their numbers.

Drones hovered overhead, and he threw his NEXT backwards, dual machineguns firing into the red glare. The distraction had served its purpose: there were too many to deal with now. They were filtering past him - far too numerous for the Base Patrol to handle. He had to fall back, past the boundary li-

[ _You're leaving the mission area!_ ]

 _To Hell with the mission area_! Fiona's startled choke was the only indication that he had unknowingly spoken his mind. Or perhaps Silent Prophet was somehow rendering his thoughts audible. They were engines of destruction piloted by willpower and brainpower, some things like thoughts might have been able to slip through.

He'd have to file that away for future reference.

"We're being paid to keep Eocene safe; I'm not just going to sit still and let things go to hell _because of some arbitrary line on a map_." He kept his voice steady; kept his anger contained. He might not have wanted the responsibility of the lives at Eocene, but he still bore them. " _Eocene One-One_ , I want all units to split evenly to the east and west. Silent Prophet will be coming up the middle and I need all the guns firing when I get there."

{ _On it Sir!_ } The heavy thumping an anti-air fire echoed in the background as the Patrolman spoke. { _You heard the LYNX! One final push and we can all go home!_ }

The cheers of the Patrol were drowned out by repeated bursts of _HITMAN_ fire. Not many left now; only two - maybe three - dozen clusters left. Both machineguns clicked once and went about self-reloading, long enough for him to note that his total ammunition was down about a third.

He frowned; this was going to cost a fortune in ammo bills.

Explosions filled the sky as more and more drones were destroyed. It had taken…five minutes? Ten? He lost count as the red glare faded; leaving nothing but the night and the stars visible.

[ _Amazing…_ ] His Operator's words were not so much as spoken as they were breathed, even as the Base Patrol cheered and hollered in victory. [ _…You got the whole pack. Zero damage reported from the Launch Site._ ]

There was disbelief in her voice, mixed ever-so-slightly with a muted awe.

Silent Prophet turned, and the NEXT walked back towards Eocene, large strides easily keeping up with the Base Patrol. They were celebrating, talking of what had just happened: their survival, their victory, their amazement at how powerful a NEXT was. This was probably the first time they had seen a NEXT in person, and he hoped that they never had to face one down on the other side of the battlefield.

 _God is Force_ \- the maxim went, and the NEXTs may have well been titans in comparison to the mortal men at his feet.

"Mission accomplished." The headache had returned. It wasn't as intense as the first, but that had lingered for hours after he had disconnected from Silent Prophet and he made a note to get the R&D department to go over the whole system. If the whole introspective thing was going to become a thing, then he would rather it be something he knew about beforehand. "Requesting Stork pick-up."

[ _Already on its way._ ] He could picture Fiona back in Anatolia, smiling as she prepared to send another 'Contract Fulfilled' report to the Governor. [ _A perfect result. Please head back._ ]

Just another day in the life of a Mercenary - he supposed; one of many more to come. He glanced back - taking in the wreckage and ruin he had brought - and after a moment, he continued to move forward.

That was all he could do now.


	4. C2-2 Interlude: RÊVERIES – PASSIONS

_**Armoured Core 4: Silent Prophet**_

 _ **Chapter 2 –Interlude**_

 _ **[RÊVERIES – PASSIONS]**_

* * *

Exavil was many things: Rayleonard's headquarters, a Research and Development test centre, Home. To him, Exavil was all of these things. And it was here - deep in Exavil itself he sat; dozens screens in front of him illuminated the entire room, each one displaying recording, schematics, and profiles of every NEXT and LYNX on the face of the planet.

Information was the first step to victory, be it on the battlefield, or from his own personal experience.

"I am surprised you have yet to retire for the night, Hector."

His fingers twitched once as the contralto voice met his ears, the tone containing a hint of amusement in its French accent. A grimace formed as she seated herself next to him, making an exaggerated show of looking at each and every monitor in front of them.

"Just keeping up to date on the world, Claire."

"Hmm…" Anjou looked at one screen out of dozens, more for something to do if anything. "Number Thirty-Eight. Aspina's Joshua O'Brien and the NEXT 'White Glint'. Taken on five missions; two for Omer, two for Rosenthal, and one for an independent colony. Three A-Ranks and Two B-Ranks; not bad."

 _Not bad indeed_. The White Glint may have been an - for lack of a better term - amalgamation of a NEXT, but it was _dangerously_ effective. It was a NEXT completely deserving of its name, and a pilot of his reputation.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, lips twisting upwards into a small smirk.

"Though I doubt it is this one of two that you are more focused on, hmm?"

He glanced at the screen Anjou had nodded towards, displaying the one enigma that plagued him.

Number Thirty-Nine. Anatolia's Silent Prophet. Val Branwen.

Information was scarce on the LYNX; having only entered the system about two months prior and only getting his first contract two weeks after that.

He frowned, eyes studying the four mission history Branwen had; three A-Ranked by GA, and the last an S-Rank by the Argentinian Colony Razghul. As arbitrary - and arguably, useless - the whole ranking system was, GA was a powerful Corporation; an _influential_ Corporation. So much so that when they had to grant the contracts Branwen completed one of the highest ranking for ranking's sake, the other Corporations were beginning to take notice. BFF were getting a bit restless, discomforted by their rival's newest employee. Rosenthal were definitely keeping their eyes and minds open, and - last he had checked - Leonemeccanica had just forwarded a job request.

"I did not take you a man so easily obsessed."

No doubt that was how it appeared to an outside viewer.

"Someone like this doesn't just spring up out of nowhere."

And yet - despite having two-thirds of the world as potentially 'interested' parties - they had next to no information on the pilot. Well, that wasn't entirely true. They _did_ have information; all of it completely standard, and telling almost nothing: Age, height, weight eye colour, hair colour. And what little that _was_ relevant was so broad and encompassing that it told almost as nothing as everything else. The man was an immigrant to the Colony itself, a survivor of the National Dismantlement War, a Raven with a vast amount of skill and experience.

He couldn't even be sure if Val Branwen was even the LYNX's real name. Rare were the LYNX that did not use a pseudonym nowadays. Even he was…somewhat guilty of that.

Anjou nodded, eyes locked on one specific screen in particular.

"Or perhaps it is Anatolia itself that is what ails you?"

Perhaps it was a coincidence - or perhaps it wasn't - that when Anjou had spoken, the recording displayed the error he made that allowed _that_ Normal to put his life in the balance. He would be lying if he said that he didn't know how it happened.

In hindsight - and maybe a small amount of bias - it was the results of being placed on a pedestal. Too many people saw him as invincible; that absolutely nothing could stand against 'Berlioz'. Rayleonard hadn't batted an eye when they had given him the orders to attack Anatolia with the goal of assassinating Professor Jarnefeldt - an order that was irrelevant given that Rayleonard had discovered the Professor had passed away weeks prior of natural causes.

So he had accepted the mission out of loyalty to his corporation, and at the time of the mission's start, it was looking to be a mission that would have been utterly forgettable if not for the fact that he was destroying a functioning, stable Independent Colony to do so.

He had gotten…complacent, for lack of a more appropriate term; unworried with his day-to-day life. He had forgotten in the grey, hazy stagnancy that for every rule and law, there was _always_ an exception. He didn't realise that he was being corralled - led into loosing Supplice's greatest asset until he was completely surrounded by buildings and alleys. He hadn't realised that the Normal knew how to fight a NEXT until they had detonated an ammunitions depot in his and Supplice's metaphorical faces. And most importantly - he hadn't known that this Raven had planned it all from the start until he had returned to Exavil and watched the multiple recordings until well into the night.

For the first time since the National Dismantlement War, he had been beaten. It was a Pyrrhic victory for the Raven, but it was still a _victory_ nonetheless.

He should have been disgusted at himself, humiliated by such a loss. But it had been so long since he had been pushed to such limits; since someone had broken the monotony - the frail status quo. It had nearly cost him his life, but for one, brief moment, he didn't have to think about the consequences, or the mission, or the past or future.

He had nearly died for his troubles, yet after his initial reaction of rage and self-recrimination, he found himself not regretting his actions.

Was it selfish of him to think that way? Most likely.

But he would not make the same mistake twice.

"You are making that expression again."

"Oh?"

"The expression where you have spent the past month convincing yourself that Anatolia's NEXT is piloted by a spectre."

Now whether or not she was teasing or playing the devil's advocate, he didn't know.

"I have been speculating; there _is_ a difference." The screen flickered, swapping to a camera view of Razghul. The NEXT in question zipped in-between pillars, cutting down panicked Normals with inhuman speed, grace, and brutality. "Val Branwen _knows_ how to pilot an _AALIYAH_. And I don't mean simulated sorties; half of the techniques he pulls off can only come from witnessing Rayleonard Pilots first-hand. He pilots better than that apprentice of yours. Better than Aabye, even."

"Shinkai is an amateur; still untested on the battlefield. And whilst skilled, Aabye is without discipline; all it would take to defeat _that_ mad dog would be to wait until he makes a mistake fuelled by rage and irritation."

Despite her reasoning, he noted that she hadn't completely dismissed the possibility either.

"However, I still doubt your theory that this LYNX is the same Raven that almost killed you." Anjou stood as she spoke, already halfway to the room's exit by the time she had finished her first sentence. "You penetrated the Normal's piloting compartment and came away with blood. Even if he did survive long enough to kill you, he would have bled out long before any aid turned up."

And then she was gone, leaving the room very much like the spectre many a Rayleonard employee made her out to be.

He remained seated, deep in thought as the monitors continued with their display. Anjou wasn't wrong - he was willing to admit. All the evidence pointed to the fact that Raven should be dead, and should have been dead for the past year. Yet whenever he had wished to believe that as the truth, a faint nagging appeared in the back of his mind; one that had saved his life more times than he could count after he had ignored in in his youth and nearly paid the ultimate price.

As much as he wanted to believe that the Raven was dead, he couldn't. Not until he had definitive proof.

Claire had called him paranoid - many, many times. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he was wrong, and the Raven was dead. If they were, then he would raise a drink in the memory of a fine warrior who had truly bested him having their life cut short, and then move on with his life.

…But if he was right; and Val Branwen _was_ the Nameless Raven that nearly ended his life…

" _Dangerous. If this is what you can accomplish piloting a Normal, I daren't imagine what you could accomplish in a NEXT._ "

He reached out, and for each switch he pressed a monitor deactivated. Research and Development had theorised that a high AMS score gifted LYNX with a limited sense of clairvoyance, and when his eyes landed on a picture of Silent Prophet - a single frame displaying the NEXT mid lunge - he couldn't quite suppress the shiver that passed down his spine, or the horrible sensation that settled in the pit of his stomach.

The Corporations of the world didn't have even the faintest of clues as to what monster had just been unleashed upon it.

Only two screens remained active: the first displaying Silent Prophet in its entirety, and the second flickering impossibly fast between profiles. It would take a while, but soon he would have a profile of every Raven that had worked with Rayleonard in _any_ capacity since the NDW that fit Val Branwen's history.

He would find out just who Anatolia's Mercenary was. There wouldn't be a repeat of last time should he ever encounter the LYNX.

Of that, he could be sure of.


End file.
